


brighter than the sun

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 15:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry doesn't think anyone can love someone like him but then he meets Louis at his group therapy session.</p>
            </blockquote>





	brighter than the sun

Harry gasps as he wakes up, sweat covering his face and body. He feels suffocated and he can’t breathe and he starts clawing at his neck, trying to get those hands off him, before he remembers that he’s gone, that Harry is safe and he has nothing to be scared about. But his nightmare – was it a nightmare? – had felt so real, and he is having trouble separating dreams from reality.

He tries to get out of his bed desperately, but his legs get tangled in the sheet, which causes him to sob harder because _why can’t he get out, why is he trapped_ and he can feel him starting to pull on his leg, smiling cruelly and pulling him closer and _no, Harry doesn’t want to do that_ but he won’t have any of it, forcing Harry under him and pinning him down.

_“You’ll be quiet, won’t you, you little faggot? That’s all you’re good for, after all.”_

Harry takes in a breath, almost falling over the bed at the shock. He closes his eyes in fear, but all he can see is his face and his eyes and his smile and it makes him sick, so he quickly gets off the bed, his blanket still around his legs. He starts crawling to the washroom, desperate to escape. But he knows he can’t, because how can you escape your thoughts and memories? How can you escape from yourself?

And he can’t even crawl anymore, he can’t even move his legs, so he just sits there, arms curled around himself and closes his eyes shut and tries to think of something else, but he _can’t_ , because suddenly, there’s hands around his neck and a voice growling in his ear and it feels like he’s falling, feels like he’s turning and twisting in mid-air and it’s so scary, so so so scary and he doesn’t know what to do so he screams, he lets out his fear and his pain in one, long cry for help.

_“Keep screaming you little shithead, no one’s gonna hear you.”_

He gasps, feeling so hot all of a sudden and he needs everything _off_ so he quickly tugs on his shirt, yanks it off roughly, not noticing where it lands. But then there’s hands at his sides, bruising his ribs and his hips and he lets out a muffled sob, trying desperately to keep quiet, and then he feels a burning sensation his stomach he feels like there’s poison inside his body and he knows, he knows he’s going to throw up but he can’t do anything, can’t move, can’t do anything except wait for it because he’s reliving his past and _he can’t get away_.

And that’s when he retches, the pasta he ate for dinner coming out of his mouth and he starts sobbing harder, because he doesn’t know what to do, he just wants this to end. He just wants to stop hurting.

Before he knows what’s happening, there’s someone holding him, and he screams again, trying to get the hands off him and trying to get away because _he’s never going to let anyone touch him like that again_ , but then there’s a cooing noise in his ear and he relaxes, focuses on the humming and he can feel himself slowly start coming back to reality.

“Just breathe, love. I’ve got you, you’re safe.”

And he does. He takes in a deep breath, releases it just as slowly. He focuses on the voice, instructing him, guiding him back to reality. It takes him a couple minutes to realize that he’s not being abused, that no one can hurt him anymore, and he slowly lets the memories in his head fade away and collapses into Gemma’s arms, completely exhausted.

Gemma is still humming a lullaby in his ear, and he groggily looks around at the mess he’s created. His shirt is on the floor somewhere, and he pants – he doesn’t remember taking them off – are also sprawled in front of him. They’re dirty because some of his vomit had seeped into them, and he suddenly wants to cry because the floor is dirty with his snot and his tears and his vomit and he’s such an idiot, such a failure, he should know how to take care of himself. He starts getting up, about to go to the kitchen and find something to clean his mess, but then Gemma is pulling him back down gently, murmuring into his ear.

“It’s okay, Haz. Don’t worry, I got it. You go clean yourself up in the bathroom while I clean this up, alright love? And then I’ll make us both some tea, and we’ll sit on the sofa talk about your nightmare until you feel okay enough to sleep. Sound good to you?”

And Harry should tell her that it’s okay, he doesn’t need babying, that he can do it himself, but he’s too tired to argue, so he just nods mutely.

After cleaning up, he slowly walks over to the sofa and collapses into it, curling up in a ball and closing his eyes. He doesn’t really feel like talking about his nightmare, but he knows that Gemma will coax him into doing it, because that’s what Dr. Peazer has told her to do whenever he has a nightmare.

So he holds his breath in anticipation for what’s about to come, knowing that he’s going to have another panic attack, and embarrassed that Gemma has to see him like this. And, for the first time in a while, he lets himself think about how pathetic he is that he can’t even go to sleep without cowering in fear. He’s an eighteen year old boy, for god’s sake, and he can’t even clean up his own mess.

*

When Harry walks into his group therapy class the next morning, he’s absolutely exhausted. So he simply plops down one of the many chairs arranged in a circle and ignores the looks that the people give him. He puts his head in his hands and closes his eyes, trying to go back to sleep. His mind wanders to last night. He stayed up until four in the morning with Gemma, talking and crying and just lying there until he was so exhausted that he was forced to go to sleep. This morning, Gemma was late to work, and it was all because he made her stay up with him.

_“You’re a useless little fuck, you know that?”_

He digs his nails into his wrist, because he needs something to focus on. He can’t have a panic attack here. He just _can’t_. So he digs his nails in harder when he can almost feel those hands shoved into Harry’s mouth, because he needs something physical to focus on, anything that will stop the flashback.

He sighs in relief when the feeling and the image slowly fades away. Realizing that he won’t be getting a quick nap after all, Harry looks around. Most of the patients are already here, and Dr. Peazer – a tall, kind woman with curly hair and a caring smile – is scribbling something into her notepad. After a couple of minutes, she finally looks up, and smiles at the group.

“Good morning, guys! How was your week?”

There are a couple of “it was good,” and someone even follows that up with a “how was yours, Dr. Peazer?”

She smiles at whoever is kind enough to ask her about herself, and replies, “It was good, thank you for asking. So, today, before we start anything, I’d like everyone to talk about something they did this week that they’re proud of, or something they wish they handled a little differently. Why don’t you start, Eleanor?”

Eleanor – a tall, slender girl with dark eyes – looks like a deer caught in headlights, and Harry might feel sorry for her, if she isn’t always such an uptight bitch. “Um. I guess. I. Uh, I tried to stop eating? But then, my mom, like, made me? And I didn’t, like, I didn’t yell at her. And I’m kinda happy that I didn’t yell at her or freak out. So. Yeah.”

Dr. Peazer smiles at Eleanor and so do some of the other people in the group, who are struggling with some of the same things, and she smiles tentatively, and Harry thinks it’s a shame she’s never smiling, because it looks quite pretty.

Dr. Peazer goes clockwise after that, and Harry’s happy because that means he won’t be going anytime soon. This group contains about eight people, including him, so there are still about five-six people to go until his turn.

“Louis, we’ve talked about sleeping during group sessions, haven’t we?”

Some people in the group snicker, a young Irish boy named Niall laughing loudly and nudging Louis, who looks a little shaken up when he’s woken up. Louis is different. He’s an enigma. He’s probably the one person in the group that isn’t hesitant to tell every one of his problems, and even though he doesn’t hide anything, Harry can’t help but feel there’s more to him than he let on.

“So Louis, now that you’ve decided to grace us with your presence, how was your weekend? Anything you’re proud of, or aren’t proud of?”

Louis looks flustered for a couple of seconds, before he recovers and smiles at everyone, showing his teeth. “I guess. I’ve kind of had a really bad week, and. I don’t really like how I’ve dealt with it.”

Dr. Peazer looks interested now, as if she’s heard something that she didn’t know before, and she’s leaning forward in her chair, looking intently at Louis. “And how did you deal with it, Louis?”

“I panicked. I kind of scared my sisters. I yelled at my mom. I hurt myself on purpose.”

Some of the people in the group – Niall, Ed, Perrie – murmur some sympathetic words, and Louis grins at them, winking, as if to say that he’s fine. But he knows that he’s not fooling anyone.

“So, group, what do you think Louis could have done to deal with his problems a little better?”

The room is silent for a couple of minutes, and Harry can see Dr. Peazer looking at him hopefully, but Harry doesn’t look at her. She wants him to speak up, because he’s been making progress with his self-harm. She’s been hinting at it at his individual therapy sessions for ages now.

Finally, someone speaks. Surprisingly, it’s Eleanor. “You could, like. Listen to music. That helps sometimes, when I get pissed off at everyone and don’t know what to do.”

Perrie nods, looking a little shy, but speaking nonetheless. “Or, like. Something that helps me is talking to someone, letting it all out. Or. Sometimes, when people are pissing me off too, I’ll, like, go to the library or something and find a quiet place to read. It really helps calm me down. Y’know?”

Louis grins at Perrie and Eleanor, a sudden surge of affection for his group threatening to take over. He looks around the circle at the faces he’s come to love and hate, saying thank you to them. And then, Dr. Peazer moves on, smiling to herself.

Some of the people are a little less cooperative than Louis, refusing to say anything and yelling at Dr. Peazer when she tries to coax them into talking. So, instead of forcing them to talk, she simply moves on to the next person. And soon enough, it’s Harry’s turn, and he can feel himself start to become nervous.

Dr. Peazer is smiling at him and looking dangerously hopeful, and he doesn’t know what to do because he doesn’t want to disappoint her, but he doesn’t want to talk either. “And what about you, Harry? How was your week?”

Harry’s always hated when she does these activities, because it forces him to participate. Usually, she’ll start a discussion and only the people that want to talk will talk, but here, he’s forced to talk. And if he doesn’t, then people will judge him. He takes a shaky breath, not really knowing what to say. Is he supposed to say that he’s disappointed that he’s having nightmares and panic attacks every night? That he can’t even let someone touch him without freaking out? That he panics whenever he’s in big crowds? That he’s a failure and he needs to be better? What is he supposed to say?

“Um. I don’t know… Nothing really happened this week? I’ve got nothing to say, so.” Harry shrugs, forcing himself to look away from the ground and at the people in the group.

Dr. Peazer looks a little disappointed, and everyone in the group looks unsurprised. Whenever Harry’s forced to speak, he never says anything. He always makes up an excuse of some sort.

“I think you told me that you were going to go to your beach house for a couple of days, right? How did that work out?”

“We went home early,” Harry says, starting to get annoyed, and a little agitated, at the constant questioning. He doesn’t like it when people ask him questions – it reminds him too much of his father, who would always ask him where he’d been, who he’d been with, what he’d did, and then punished him.

“Why did you go home early?”

And that is when Harry snaps. The question itself is innocent, but Harry can feel the familiar panic starting to settle within him, and he doesn’t want to do something he’ll regret in front of everyone else. Why can’t she just leave him alone? Doesn’t she see that he isn’t comfortable doing this?

“Because I’m a fucking failure, alright? Because I couldn’t even spend one night in the fucking beach house without thinking about all of things that had happened in there. Because I had a panic attack in the middle of the night and I ruined everyone’s vacation.  And then _Gemma_ – who has to study and work and take care of me – had to clean up my mess and take me home and babysit me. Because apparently I can’t even do _nothing_ right. Are you happy? _Are you fucking happy now?_ ”

“Now, Harry, just calm down. Sit down.” She waits for Harry to sit down before she continues speaking. “Why do you think you’re a failure, Harry? I sincerely hope you know that everything that’s happened to you is absolutely _not_ your fault, no matter what your fath –”

“ _Shut up!_ ”

Harry looks at Dr. Peazer’s shocked face, and then slowly moves his eyes towards everyone else’s, who all look equally surprised. Sensing the sob about to rise from his throat, he quickly walks away, out of the doors of the community center. He  goes to the alley in the side, sliding to the ground and curling up into a ball.

He shuts his eyes, letting his tears overcome him. He can’t believe that he did that in front of everyone. He can’t believe he allowed himself to lose control like that. He desperately looks around, trying to find something that will help him with his pain. When he sees some shards of a broken beer bottle lying around, he quickly grabs one of the sharper ones, curling back up into a ball and pressing it against his skin.

He doesn’t press too hard, because the dull pain is enough to bring him back to reality. It’s something to focus on; something to remind him that he’s real and this isn’t a dream and no one can hurt him anymore, no one but himself. And he knows that he’s ruined all his work of trying to stop hurting himself, but he can’t seem to find himself to care because it’s helping him, and how can something that’s helping him be bad?

And then he’s crying again because _god, he’s so pathetic_ , and he can’t even go a couple of weeks without a sharp object and just the thought makes him cry harder because he’s such a failure, he’s so pathetic, and he’s not perfect, _why isn’t he perfect_?

But then he feels someone wrap their arms around him, and he gasps, thrashing about and crying harder but they won’t go away so he screams, and it’s so loud and so heartbreaking that whoever it is lets go instantly, and then Harry’s curled up again and he’s crying harder and harder and he can barely breathe and there’s snot coming out of his nose and. He’s such a mess.

He opens his eyes, finally, only to be met with sight of Louis, looking heartbreakingly beautiful, with the way he’s kneeling down and looking at Harry with concern. When Louis notices that Harry’s back to reality, he sits down next to him, putting a tentative hand on his knee, as if testing the waters. Harry’s blurry eyes stare at the hand for a minute, but he doesn’t protest, so Louis smiles warmly at him.

His eyes flicker to Harry’s arm, where one of his hands is gripping at the sharp glass tightly, and there’s a small scar on his wrist. “It’s only temporary relief, y’know.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, staring ahead. His face is burning because _oh my god, he saw him at his weakest and that’s really embarrassing, he probably thinks that Harry’s an idiot now_.

He’s not sure how long they stay there, sitting beside each other in silence. But, eventually, Louis gets up, offering Harry his hands, which he ignores. Louis shrugs, acting like it doesn’t affect him, but Harry can tell that it does because his eyes give it away. They both go back inside, and Dr. Peazer looks so proud of them both that Harry almost feels like he may have done something good.

But then his father’s voice is at the back of his mind again, repeating itself like a broken record, and Harry wants to feel proud but he can’t, not when there’s that voice, constantly reminding him that he’s never going to do anything right.

_“You’re never going to amount to anything, you filthy little whore.”_

*

At the end of the session, Louis is instantly by Harry’s side, all smiles and laughter and Harry’s starting to realize that that’s just how Louis _is_ , and he likes it. And then Louis is asking Harry if he wants to grab some lunch—even though it’s five o’clock—and he doesn’t wait for an answer and grabs Harry’s hand, waving a cheery bye to Niall. Harry starts panicking as soon as he feels the warmth of Louis’ hand on him. _Louis is holding his hand and he doesn’t like it when people hold his hand._

He quickly yanks it away, ignoring the curious – and maybe just a little hurt – look that Louis gives him. But, even though he’s feeling quite uncomfortable, he follows Louis outside, sending Gemma a quick text saying that he’ll be out a little later than normal.

The two walk alongside each other in awkward silence for bit, the tension between them overwhelming. Louis seems caught up in his own world, and Harry can’t get over the fact that Louis has now seen him at his weakest. The only one who’s ever really been there during one of his episodes is Gemma. Harry doesn’t know why Louis is being so nice to him and offering to have lunch with him. He reckons that Louis feels sorry for him.

“So, Harry. Tell me a bit about yourself.”

Taken aback, Harry’s eyes widen with surprise, and colour starts rushing up to his cheeks. “Um. There’s, uh. Not much to tell.”

“Oh come _on_ , you’re a human being, I’m sure you have some information about yourself that you’re willing to share with me. This walk is boring.”

Harry wants to ask where Louis is even leading him to; he has no clue. But he doesn’t have to courage to do so. Instead, he decides to play Louis’ little game with him. “Alright. I’m eighteen years old, turning nineteen next year in February. I live with my sister, for now. And. I don’t know. I like cats…?”

Louis laughs unexpectedly at the random last bit of information, but he also tucks it in his mind for later use. He doesn’t know what it is about Harry, but he likes him. Maybe it’s the curls that pulled him in initially, or how his eyes always contain a hint of grief. “How interesting, Harry. Well, I’m twenty years old, turning twenty-one this December. I go to college, and I’m studying Drama. I’m living in a flat with Liam, and Niall is my best friend.”

“Really? I’ve never seen you two talking a lot during the sessions.”

“Yeah, well, the group therapy sessions aren’t really for socializing, are they?” Louis chuckles, smiling up at Harry with those twinkling eyes, and Harry just has to smile back, especially with the way Louis is looking at him.

“Suppose that’s true. So Louis, where are we going?” Harry’s starting to ease into the conversation with Louis, because talking to him is easy, easier than lots of things. He’ll soon find that everything with Louis is always just that – easy.

“I’m taking you to Applebee’s for some lunch. You like ‘em, right?”

“Never been.”

Cue the horrific gasp. “You’ve never been to _Applebee’s_? Oh, now we’re definitely going there. No doubt about it.”

*

After they finish eating at Applebee’s – which is a wonderful restaurant, Harry thinks – Louis invites him to his flat, and really, how can Harry refuse an offer like that? So the two of them walk some more, and Louis claims that it’s only a five minute walk, although it feels like much more to Harry.

When they do finally get to Louis’ apartment, he is telling Harry all about his roommate, whose name is – apparently – Li-Li.

“Yeah, Liam’s a bit conserved and shy when you first meet him, but I think the two of you will get along just fine once you get to know each other. He’s a really sweet guy, actually. Does my laundry and everything.”

After they reach the 5th floor, which is where Louis’ apartment is located, they walk to the end of the hall, and Louis knocks on the door. A boy, who looks no older than Louis, with his brown eyes and mature face, opens the door for them, smiling briefly when he sees Louis, and then staring at Harry with curiosity.

“Who’s this, Lou?”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot to introduce you two, silly me. Harry, this is Liam, and Liam, this is Harry. He’s in my therapy session.”

“Nice to meet you,” Liam says, smiling at me. Harry can tell from his eyes that Liam is still a bit reserved about meeting him, but he’s trying his best to be polite.

“You too.”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “Are you gonna let us in? This is my flat too, y’know.”

Liam’s eyebrows slowly knit together and he doesn’t immediately let them in. “Yeah. Um. About that. You should. You should go out for a bit. Um. Have some lunch. Hang out.”

“Why?”

“There’s someone over… And I’m not sure if you want to see him, Lou,” Liam says, giving Louis a meaningful look.

Louis’ eyes widen, and then he’s panicking, his face starting to turn pale. “Why’d you let him in, you dumbass?” He hisses, voice starting to lower.

Harry’s not sure what this is about, but he can tell that it’s big, whatever it is. With his time spent with Louis, Harry has quickly figured out that Louis is a very laidback, easy-going person, and he doesn’t like letting too many things get to him. So the fact that his fists are clenched and he has a terrified look on his face already tells Harry everything he needs to know.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? But he stayed outside all night. I didn’t tell you, because you were having a sleepover with Niall and I didn’t want to bother you. And then you went straight to the therapy session and didn’t come back when you were supposed to. What did you want me to do? Leave him out there?”

“Um. Yeah.”

“Louis, I understand that you guys have your differences, but that doesn’t mean—”

“ _Differences?_ Liam, he’s a fucking asshole, you know that!”

“Okay. I’m sorry. You’re right. He _is_ an asshole. But that doesn’t mean that _I’m_ an asshole too. I couldn’t stand him staying out there all night.”

“Jesus, Liam, you’re acting like a fucking idiot, you know that?”

“Look, I’m sorry, Louis. I understand that you’re mad, but—”

“Louis?”

Both Liam and Louis’ eyes widen at the third voice that interrupts their arguing. Harry’s not sure who it is, but he thinks that it’s probably the guy that Louis doesn’t like, and the one that Liam invited in the flat.

Someone comes into view then, someone who looks to be about the same age as Liam and Louis. He has tan skin, black hair, and a mysterious aura that would probably draw the girls right in. On top of that, with his leather jacket and bad boy look, he’s probably a ladies man.

“Get out of here, Zayn.” Harry turns to look at Louis in surprise. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Louis’ voice so cold.

“Louis, look, I came to apologize about what happened. I’ve been here all night, waiting for you, an—”

“Does it look like I give a fuck? Get out of here.”

“Louis, don’t be like that! What happened wasn’t my fault. You know how my dad can—”

“I don’t want to hear it. Get. Out.”

“—be, right? He’s the one that made me do it, he’s the one that makes me do everything. You know I actually never meant any of it, right?”

“I said, I don’t want to hear it!” Louis finally screams, and Harry jumps at the unexpected sound. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Louis so flustered.

Liam quickly goes over to Louis, wrapping him in his arms and muttering sweet things into his ear. _It’s gonna be alright, Lou. He’ll leave soon, don’t you worry._ Harry has no idea what’s going on, but from the looks of it, he’s not sure he wants to know. Louis buries his face in Liam’s shirt, and Harry thinks he might be crying, but he’s not sure.

“I think you should leave, Zayn.” Liam says quietly, making it clear that he doesn’t have a choice.

Zayn looks between the two of them, his eyes swimming with regret. Regret for what? He murmurs a quiet “sorry,” then walks out the door, passing the three of them and walking to the elevator. Liam and Harry watch as Zayn disappears into the elevator.

What just happened?

*

“I guess I should probably. Um. Tell you about him.”

Harry smiles apologetically. “You don’t have to, if you’re not comfortable. I understand.” Harry’s curiosity is killing him; he really wants to know what’s going on. But if Louis is reluctant to tell him, then Harry won’t force him.

“No, that’s alright. I should tell you. You’re my friend, and. Um. Ms. Peazer says I have to start opening up to people more. So. Um. You’re not homophobic, are you?” Harry shakes his head, and he’s about to tell Louis that he himself is gay, but Louis keeps talking, so Harry decides to stay silent. “So, like. That guy – Zayn – and I met at a party a while ago, and we were both pretty drunk, and we hooked up. The next day, I was pretty surprised at what happened. Zayn’s a jock. Quarterback on the footie team. He’s  pretty popular and he seemed really into ladies. He was also a Catholic, and his parents were pretty strict. Church every Sunday and all that. I would’ve thought that he’d never hook up with a guy, even when he was drunk. But I didn’t say anything about it, kept it a secret.

And we kept hooking up like that, at parties. In the beginning, we only did it when we were drunk, but it slowly turned into doing it while we were sober. We didn’t tell anyone, of course. He wasn’t ready for that, and I was completely okay with that. But a couple of weeks ago … We were in his basement, y’know, and we were. Um. Naked. And his dad comes downstairs. He wasn’t supposed to be home till later that night, but apparently he was finished early.”

There’s a long pause, in which Louis takes a deep, shaky breath. “It was horrible, Harry.” He cuts off with a shaky sob, and Harry decides that maybe he doesn’t want to know, not really. Louis is crying and Liam is nowhere to be found and Harry doesn’t know how to do this, how to comfort people. He can’t even comfort himself.

“It’s alright, Loui—”

“No, I have to tell you,” he says, continuing with the story. “His father. His father was. He was slapping him, and then pushing him and kicking him in the stomach and Zayn – he just took it all, didn’t complain once. And then his dad told me to leave and I tried comforting Zayn but he just. He ignored me. So I left.” Louis paused again, taking another shaky breath and composing himself. “The next day at school, Zayn didn’t talk to me. We ignored each other. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that his friends were bullying me, calling me a faggot and a fairy, and he didn’t do anything. He just sat there and watched. And then—and then, he called me a cockslut. Zayn called me a fucking cockslut.”

Harry quickly stands up, stumbling a little. He walks over to the coat rack in lightning speed, grabbing his coat and trying not to let the tears fall. “I. I have to go. I’m sorry.”

He opens the doorknob and walks out urgently, determined to make sure that he doesn’t have a panic attack before he gets home. _It’s the cockslut that did it,_ Harry thinks. _That’s what triggered it._

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhhh theres going to be another part this is my first time posting on ao3!!!


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